


Pride and Promiscuity

by afterbaedeker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterbaedeker/pseuds/afterbaedeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a truth universally acknowledged in Wizarding Britain that an accomplished Hermione Granger must be in want of a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride and Promiscuity

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
> 
> **Author's Notes:** Written for **athiela** for the 2006 sexy_brilliance exchange.
> 
> Kinks requested: (sexually) submissive!Hermione, (light) bondage, adultery, (a wee bit of) angst, (a touch of) knifeplay and a potentially unhappy ending (left purposefully vague so you can make them as miserable as you like).

#

It is a truth universally acknowledged in Wizarding Britain that an accomplished Hermione Granger must be in want of a challenge. Recent history dictated as much, for no sooner had Hermione assisted her two best friends in orchestrating the downfall of Lord Voldemort than she began championing the development of hospices for the victims of the War. Upon completing the necessary fundraising efforts for the hospices, Hermione introduced the Wizarding world to the Muggle concept of counselling to deal with the traumatic psychological aftermath affecting the Wizarding world. Hermione's next self-appointed task was to endorse Arthur Weasley's candidacy for Minister of Magic. With Arthur's overwhelmingly enthusiastic election came Hermione's next great cause - negotiating a workable relationship between the press and Harry Potter. Hermione juggled those negotiations whilst advocating legislative reform to foster better relations between witches and wizards of all bloodlines. In short, Hermione Granger thrived on a challenge and that would inevitably be the source of her greatest downfall.

#

"Skulking Miss Granger? Hardly behaviour befitting the Ministry's favourite muggleborn."

Hermione spun round to face Lucius Malfoy. "Yes, and in polite society sneaking up on people is also considered poor form."

"Ah, therein lies the difference – I do not for one moment consider this," he dismissively waves one hand to accompany his sneer, "polite society."

"No?" Disbelief is evident in her reply. "How curious then, that you should pay so much to secure your place in this _impolite_ society."

He almost snarls at her impertinence and contents himself with tightening his grip upon the biting silver top of his cane. "We each pay, my dear," his voice lowers with the effort of not spitting out the words. "I pay with galleons and you pay with your tiring little crusades."

"What?"

"Tut, tut, Miss Granger. I believe you mean 'pardon'." His nose scrunches as he contorts his face into a mockery of a smile.

Hermione presses her tongue against the back of two front teeth as she sucks in a steadying breath – a habit from adolescence she is yet to outgrow, before exhaling. "What are you doing here Malfoy?"

"It will surprise you to learn, Miss Granger, that you do not have a monopoly on escaping the tedium of Ministry fundraisers."

Hermione tilts her head as she appraises she man before her. "Perhaps not."

#

He raps his cane against the doorframe without pause as he enters the library in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. He lifts a perfectly mocking eyebrow in deference to her previous complaint.

"What do you want?" She looks up from the piles of paper strewn across worktable.

"Really, my dear, I find your manners entirely lacking."

"Is that so?" She exhales an exasperated breath, "Then I apologise, profusely, for my want in etiquette."

Three long strides bring him to her side. He bows before her, his breath hot and moist as he whispers, "If only your apology were sincere."

She opens her mouth to counter his submission, a mistake on her part, allowing him to claim her mouth in a capably, toe-curling fashion. They kiss with abandon, each fisting their hands in the other's long hair, pulling tugging, biting, kissing, rubbing with weeks of pent up frustration at abortive flirting at countless ministry events.

Lucius lifts her robes high enough to tug down at the unflattering slacks she wears underneath. As he deftly unties his pants Hermione swats at his hands, interrupting him to point out, "We can't," she flails to find the words as she nods between their two dishevelled bodies, " _here_!"

"Do try to remember you are a witch," he rebukes as he swishes his wand casting the necessary locking and silencing wards non-verbally.

"We can, we will, we are. Now be a good girl and spread your legs."

#

"Does Narcissa know?"

"No doubt she suspects. However, it is not her place to know."

"Really? I thought that wives were entitled to know of their husband's mistress. Or mistresses as the case may be."

"Ah, my dear, betraying your Muggle heritage once again. Mistress, singular, is the Wizarding prerogative." He brushes his chin against her nose before resting his forehead against hers. "You are not my Mistress. You are a dalliance, an affair, a good fuck." His hand roams from its resting place on her thigh to cup her sex through the flimsy sundress she picked up at a flea market in Paris. "A Mistress is a man's ideal alternative to his wife. A true Mistress has the standing of a Wife in the Wizarding world. Once a man claims his Mistress then he informs his wife."

"Oh."

"I told you I would teach you things you never knew before."

"So you have."

#

Hermione felt a peculiar mix of apprehension, ridiculousness and deviance as she rapped on the front door of Malfoy Manor. Lucius had been explicit in his instructions and Hermione was nothing if not thorough in her ability to follow directions.

A wizened house elf opened the imposing doors, promptly collected Hermione's coat, Disapparated with a ' _pop_ ' and left Hermione standing naked bar the sheer thigh-high stockings that clad her legs and red stiletto pumps. An entirely incongruous image of the formidable Hermione Granger standing naked and alone in the vast marble chamber of the Malfoy foyer greeted Lucius as he descended the master staircase.

He strode to her, drinking in her appearance: she looked like sex on incredibly fuckable legs. Her hair was as tamed as the bushy monstrosity was ever likely to be, falling in haphazard curls that brushed her breasts and fell to the mid of her back; her skin was clear and taut and showed the slightest puckering from the chill of the house; her thatch, a thankfully trimmed triangle, that competed with her showcased legs for attention.

"Full marks."

Hermione beamed with the entirely unfamiliar awareness that she genuinely revelled in his appraisal, in his pleasure. Hermione stored away the odd but not unwelcome feeling for further deliberation at a later point, presumably sometime after she had been fucked senseless by someone who knew how.

Lucius leant into Hermione's mouth, his lips moulding to her smile, his tongue sliding past her teeth to glide against the roof of her mouth. His hands settled on her bare arse, enjoying the mindless kneading of her flesh, as he continued to kiss Hermione. With a squeeze of her cheeks he lifted her up, bringing her hips to rest atop his and instinctively Hermione wrapped her legs around Lucius' waist and looped her arms about his neck. Lucius walked them to the entertaining room adjacent before lowering them onto the Hippogriff hide that lay before the disused fireplace.

Lucius kneeled before Hermione, looking down at her splayed across the matt hide, limbs akimbo, hair mussed, skin shining with sweat. "You look entirely wanton," he informed the witch before him as he ran an experienced hand along one stocking encased leg before removing the shoe that dangled at the end. He repeats the process to the other leg before stretching out over her body to whisper in her ear, "And I find that entirely captivating."

He nips at her neck, then lower, licking at sweat that collects at her suprasternal notch, before running his strong tongue firmly down the valley between her breasts. His breath as it exhales over her saliva dampened nipples causes her chest to constrict in the most delightful way. He lowers himself further still, licking and nipping at her stomach and pelvis before bypassing her crotch and resuming his ministrations to the flesh that borders the tops of her stockings. He ignores her protests as he removes his mouth from her willing flesh to slowly, tortuously slowly, roll one stocking from mid-thigh to knee to calf to ankle to toe and then repeats the surprisingly erotic but arduous process for the benefit of the other leg.

Lucius directs Hermione to kneel. She rolls herself onto her stomach and kneels on hands and feet; she tilts to head back to look at Lucius causing her hair to swing against the floor. "Not quite," he murmurs and directs Hermione to rest on her haunches. He brings her arms together behind her back and binds them at the wrists with the stockings he has so recently removed. He wandlessly removes his robes with a perfectly enunciated spell. He stands before his bound lover and presses his thrumming erection against her parted lips. She licks and sucks as he has instructed her in the past. She blows on the seeping slit of his penis like a classically trained flautist. He removes his cock from her talented mouth and kneels with her, in front of her, cups her face as his tongue searches out his taste from her mouth. Breathless he pulls away from her, his hands find purchase on her pleasing hips and his knees nudge hers apart. He guides her atop him, brings her down forcefully, and they eagerly ride each other. The room is filled with sounds of her panting, the hitching of her breath, the rising of her voice as it beats out his name in a staccato rhythm and with his undeniably masculine groans and grunts and the hoarse sibilance of his repeated ' _yes_ '. They move and slide and slip and crest and kiss together beating out their orgasms. Hermione, boneless, leans against the rise and fall of her lover's frame.

Lucius notices her first.

Narcissa stands imperiously at the entrance to the entertaining area purveying the unorthodox scene before her.

"I'll inform Dippy he needs to clean the parlour once you are," her voice coolly dispassionate, "done." She turns on her heel and leaves the room, her shoes clicking against the hard floor heralding her exit.

#

"Why me?"

"Because you are everything I should not want."

"Funny, I could say the same for you."

They sit together in companionable silence sharing the dying sunlight hours with a plate of figs, red grapes and walnut slice before them and the remains of sipped thimbles of sherry in their hands.

"Touché."

#

"I found this."

She shows him the ancient text, written in a language before the time of Merlin. Sheafs of modern parchment stick out from the tome, each with Hermione's neat writing lining the page, occasionally interrupted by a formula or a symbol.

"A wizard can mark a Witch with this magic. You could claim me as your Mistress in this way quite separate from modern Magical custom."

She feels the familiar buzz of adrenaline that surges within her whenever she makes a scholarly discovery. The only feeling close to it is the way he is able to manipulate her senses.

"But then, you knew that already."

There is no need for him to answer her, his eyes glitter and give him away.

"Your thirst for knowledge," his clipped voice is an aphrodisiac of articulation, "will be your undoing."

Her eyes widen, she opens her mouth, a protestation bubbling to the surface.

"Not a question, my dear."

He leads her to his private chambers which house a veritable treasure trove of Dark Arts memorabilia and Malfoy family heirlooms. He commands her to disrobe as he searches for the necessary tools to mark her as she requests.

He takes a seat in an ostentatious seat that could adequately be described a throne adorned with the Malfoy crest and suitably Slytherin insignia. She stands before him as he beckoned. He grips the silver blade in one hand and her hip with the other. He runs the blade over her mons, shearing the hair of her thatch off. Stroke, after deliberate stroke, her sex is exposed to him until it is hairless canvas prepared for decoration. He rests the blade on the arm of the throne and summons his wand from his cane.

He rests the tip of his wand against the flesh above her clitoris. His eyes search hers for any hesitation, any reconsideration. He sees only determination and reckless eagerness.

He casts the Mark upon her.

#

"The magic is similar to the Dark Mark."

"I would quickly reconsider whatever thoughts are currently churning through your mind as to whether they would be best shared with a Death Eater."

"You're the perfect person to share this discovery with as you've first hand experience of both magics!" Her boundless enthusiasm for learning had garnered many odd looks over the years, had prevented her forming many friendships, and could drive Lucius to distraction, but he was damned as his interest was piqued by this latest revelation.

"Are you implying the loyal subjects of the Dark Lord were in fact his collective Mistress?"

"I," she was oblivious to his teasing, "guess I am." She bites her lip in thought. "The link, the marking, the ritual, the ability to summon and trace the connected. It's," she trails off, "fascinating."

"You," Lucius grips the back of her head, "are fascinating."

#

It feels like the reverberating hum of a plucked chord when he summons her. The flesh quivers ever so subtly where the mark mars her mons, the pull is slight enough to be ignored but Hermione dutifully attends to Lucius' whims. She Apparates directly into his bedchamber where he stands arrogantly naked. Part of her finds cause to rebuke his presumption, that she would so readily respond to his desire and yet...she does answer his barest calls. Willingly. Desperately.

#

"I want a child."

"So go out and get yourself one, or with one as the case may be."

"Don't be obtuse Lucius, it doesn't suit you."

"My dear, I fail to see how you imagine I can," he pauses, infinitesimally but noticeably, " _assist_ you in this endeavour."

"Is that so?"

They walk on in silence, snow fall punctuating their frosty breath as they return to their chalet on the outskirts of Wizarding Wien.

#

Unbeknownst to either party – it proved Lucius Malfoy provided Hermione Granger the perfect challenge.


End file.
